Prospects
by GoldenMiniJ-17
Summary: Ficlet! A small collection about Sybbie and how she meets her beau. It holds to the info from canon - Tom and his cousin have a successful business and now he wants to expand into aeroplanes. And that means investors and partners and new forced friends...
1. 1927

**Well... it's certainly been a while!**

 **So, as promised, a ficlet here for YANKEECOUNTESS :D, who has been just totally awesome recently and I had to say thank you!**

 **So this is my head canon about how Sybbie meets her beau - whether she'll marry him, I don't know, I'm torn on whether he survives the war :P - and this shows some key moments that I've thought about and wanted to write.**

 **So it still follows what canon says: They live in Boston and Tom and his cousin run a very successful car business... but my head-canon begins as Tom wants to expand into aeroplanes. And that means investors and more partners...**

 **It will come in a few parts, and she does get older in some, but if i come up with any more beyond the little ficlet, I may go back :)**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

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1927

"Where are we going Pa?" Little Sybbie asked her father, as he guided her along the sidewalk. At 7 years old she was still a bit forgetful, or just wasn't very good at listening. Newport held much wonder for her, it was different from Boston. The fresh air and the sea must do her good, Tom thought. Though he had been planning a trip up, he hadn't expected it to be so soon but he had his own interests to pursue. As it was one of the sunnier days, he decided to make them walk to Bellevue Avenue. It wasn't too long but he hoped that it would tire Sybbie out somewhat so she wouldn't misbehave, not that she would. The long street, combined with shrubbery, a paved road and many mansions made Tom feel uncomfortable. It wasn't like the walk up to Downton, the view wasn't overshadowed by any competition - your senses were drawn to it. But here it was a game, a competition to prove which of the large houses was the biggest. Constant refurbishments and lavish purchases boasted the victor.

"To Grandma Levinson's. Remember her? The funny lady with all the feathers." he answered.

She laughed, the memory of the large poufy feathers protruding from her hair, her hats; she even put on in Sybbie's hair but it was terribly itchy. The gaudy jewellery, all that would cost more than their house, she remembered too. The necklaces alone were heavy.

"Yes!" she was excited and started to pull ahead. He tried to pull her back by his side but instead he let go, watching her as she began to skip ahead. The path was large and the road almost deserted - a stray cyclist would appear but they would be on the other side of the road. He wasn't too worried about her running in the road but he picked up his pace to keep within a few steps of her.

"Oh hurry up Pa!" she called back. She rolled her eyes and continued on.

"Sybbie! Come back, you've gone too far!"

The large gate beside him, cast in iron and decorated with an 'L', struck in gold. He tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. He smiled as Sybbie appeared at his side, holding onto his leg. He picked her up, he couldn't for much longer, and searched for a key box. On the wall was a small box with a button. He pressed it, as there was no other indication as to opening the gate.

Out of the small building at the side of the fence, a man appeared. He hadn't recalled a guard before but then again, Mrs Levinson was getting old, and very uneasy.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I'm here to see Mrs Levinson,"

The guard eyed Sybbie, who stared back at him warily.

"Name?"

"Tom Branson. I'm her granddaughters-"

"Let him in for gods' sake!" a familiar voice shouted. Walking down the path, from the garden side of the house, Martha appeared waving at them both. Sybbie waved back, smiling, her fear of the nasty man gone. Tom smiled too, almost laughing at the guard who instantly opened the gate and let them in.

Though Martha was old, she was spritely. She had reached them before the man had closed the gate behind them. She had a large grin on her face, her arms open wide.

"Hello, my dears! How lovely to see you, travelling all this way to see us!" Sybbie said hello and wrapped her arms around Martha's legs. She kissed the child on the head, stroking her hair. It was longer than she remembered, and that dreadful bob had gone. She'd grown lovely long hair with a slight curl at the bottom. A ribbon kept back the shorter strands left from her fringe. Tom took Martha's outstretched hand and squeezed it in hello.

"Hello Mrs Levinson-"

"Martha for heaven's sake Tom, I won't be here much longer to keep telling you. Sybbie, you've most definitely grown - and your hair! You looked far too much like your aunt with that terrible hair cut that that awful nanny gave you."

"Thank you," she swayed from side to side, looking away. Sybbie felt funny whenever someone said her hair looked nice. It wasn't often.

"Well, come on in for something to eat, you've travelled a long way! When did you arrive in Newport?"

Walking up the driveway, Tom told her of their travels. Harold had asked him to come to Newport for some sort of business talk and he came a little early to see her. They discussed their home lives and how the Branson's were staying in a hotel closer to the centre of town and, no matter what, Martha couldn't persuade them to stay at her home as several of his business ventures were at the hotel.

"But what about the little one?"

Sybbie had skipped ahead, going straight though the open front door and up to her great uncle for a hug. He picked her up, almost over his head and kissed both her cheeks.

"There's a woman that can come in and look after her, besides, she can almost look after herself. She makes friends easily."

Martha nodded, "Yes, she is charming. That will come in handy."

Tom didn't pretend to not know what she meant, but the charm that she had inherited from the Crawley's would be noticed in later years, and not in an entirely appropriate way. Martha called Harold to come and say hello. He shook Tom's hand, guiding him into the library. Tom asked for a moment. He knelt in front of Sybbie and took hold of her hands. She studied his hands, they didn't look anything like hers, he was starting to get bumps and lumps.

"Sybbie, come here. Now I've got some things to do, can you be good for your Grandma please? I don't want to hear of any trouble-"

"She won't be a bother Tom! I'll take her down to the marina, let her go on our yacht." Martha interrupted. Sybbie giggled and Tom kissed her forehead. A day at the marina would be exciting, she would like watching the boats come in.

All wrapped up in a small coat and boots, tummy full of biscuits and sandwiches, Sybbie watched as Martha called Harold into the hallway. She told him that a friend would be coming and that he should introduce him to Tom. It could be good for his 'prospects and interests'. Sybbie played with the stray button on her coat.

"What's prospects?" she asked loudly, interrupting the impending argument between mother and son. Harold smiled at her curiosity and answered.

"It means future. Or something that will impact on it anyways."

The girl nodded. She understood. Whomever was coming to visit this afternoon would be in her life. She hoped it would be a mother.

...

Returning from the marina, with a man in tow carrying many bags containing the items that Martha had spoiled herself and mostly Sybbie with, the unknown car was still parked out the front. It must have been the new friend that Tom would soon know. It was relatively new, with not a speck of dirt upon it. The older lady circled the vehicle taking in every shape and style so she could purchase one herself.

"Ooh. Fancy set of wheels here, my dear. Does your father own a car?"

"Yes, but it's not like this. It's much smaller and it's black." she stroked the door of the much better vehicle. Her father and her uncle - who wasn't really her uncle, he was Pa's cousin - worked very hard and they had a good business. She goes to a school where she must wear a special dress rather than her own clothes and many of the richer families send their children there so they must be rich too. But not like this. She heard her father's voice from inside and she ran to him.

"Hello love, did you have a good day?" he asked, hugging her close.

"Oh yes! We went to see the boats in the water and we even went on Grandma's yacht."

Harold laughed at that and eyed his mother. She just shrugged and smirked.

"We even went-"

"Well, Mr Branson, the ideas you bring will be a great assets to our - well, who's this?" A taller, slightly fatter man boomed from behind them. He smiled at Sybbie whilst trying to keep a grasp on the cigarette that drooped from his mouth. He wore a beige suit, one that matched the colour of the car and a very large hat. Though he wore many statements of high and expensive fashion, all that Sybbie noticed was his very shiny spats.

"This is my daughter, Sybil." Proud, he pulled her in front of him so she couldn't hide.

" _Miss_ Sybil." Martha corrected, taking off her coat. She directed the man into the small reception room; she pretended that she didn't see Tom's disapproving look. Cora was just as bad at spoiling Sybbie.

"Martha-" Tom sighed.

"What? That's her name! It's what came with having my granddaughter as her mother."

"I thought you didn't believe in all that?" he smirked, winking. She chuckled and took the teasing well, knowing that she had been unsuccessful in hers.

"Believe in what?" a funny, cracked voice came from behind the fat man. Fat man lit his cigarette, offering the lighter to her uncle, who graciously took it. Sybbie didn't like the immediate smell, but the memories swirled with the lingering aroma. It smelt like Downton, like Donk. Though the Fat Man didn't have as much grace as Donk though. He had a funny American voice - he sounded like the new boy in school who came from Chicago - and he slouched a little. He looked a little scary but she wasn't scared.

"Come over here son, there's some more to our new friend here," he chuckled at the end. Sybbie cringed.

The boy couldn't have been older than 13, he still held a slight thinness to his body and face, however his voice was starting to deepen. He was taller than Sybbie, but not taller than his father. He dressed like his father though, shiny shoes and all. He looked like he was playing dress up as the suit didn't really fit. He was pushed into a man's place. The 7 year old giggled at him, but looked away as the older boy seemed to be disgusted with her presence.

"Nothing, Jonathan, just my- well my late wife's- family. It's all very complex."

The lad nodded.

"Oh! I'm very sorry my friend, I didn't know your- well I'm sorry to say the least," The fat man shook her father's hand, putting the other on top in care. Tom shook it away with his free hand, his grief for Sybil though never gone but significantly decreased, that there were no need for apologies.

"Jonathan!" the fat man seethed. "Manners."

The boy looked a bit uncertain but still apologised. Tom tried not to laugh at the poor boys awkwardness in the forced apology but accepted it none the less.

"Who are you?" Sybbie broke the moment. The question, though answered by the fat man as 'Mr Cartwright and my son Jonathan', wasn't completely directed at him. The look from the boy had made her uncomfortable. She didn't like feeling uncomfortable and when she did, all grace left her. She wanted to know who dared to look at her that way.

Jonathan took a step away, her gaze became more fierce as time passed. He bobbed his head in defeat, turning to his father, and both of the young ones dropped back into the conversation.

"I shall telephone you tomorrow Mr Branson and we can make arrangements. The prospects of this deal will be good for us both. In these uncertain times-"

"That means future..." Sybbie said to herself, even though everyone heard. Martha was proud at how quickly she picked up the world around her... and slightly worried. The girl was perceptive, maybe too much. Tom nodded, he encouraged her learning whenever he could.

"Or something that..." Something triggered in her mind and she froze. She looked up, she scowled at her father, at the older boy and stormed off in between them. The older boy huffed and started to laugh. His father soon stopped that by telling him to get in the car. Sybbie meanwhile, threw her teddies around her room. The boy and the fat man - Mr Cartwright and his son Jonathan - would be in their lives and _affecting their_ future. A small part of her was relieved it was not a mother however.

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 **Part 2 will be up soon!**

 **It will be set in 1932.**

 **Hope you liked it!**

 **Goldenminij17 :) xx**


	2. December 1932

**Here's chapter two!**

 **Thank you for the views and reviews... I'm replying as this is posted :)**

 **Enjoy!**

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 **December 1932**

She was surprised that they even still had a house let alone a cook. To plan a party in these times was vulgar. After they moved to Chicago before the market crash, the Branson's and the Cartwright's regularly made house calls and planned parties. She normally wasn't allowed to stay up to be a part of them but this was a special occasion. She pulled and fiddled with her grown up party dress, which was uncomfortable and terribly itchy. Even her hair was pulled and curled, all styled by a professional. It looked rather nice but she wouldn't admit it. She still didn't want to go. It was Jonathan's 18th birthday and Sybbie really couldn't care less. They were now in the same school as she had moved up to the higher years. But she had a secret. In her journal she was counting down the days until the autumn.

Until September.

That was when Jonathan went to Stanford. It was in California, a place far away and that meant she didn't have to see him anymore, and by extension, his parents. His mother wasn't too bad - kind, caring though she looked down upon her father and it annoyed her. Sybbie hated that Mr Cartwright and her father would whisper about her, even with her in the room. With Jonathan gone though, she was free.

She looked at herself in the mirror, still unhappy about the dress. Aunt Mary sent it from England and it was apparently very fashionable. It was red, she hated red but she couldn't send it back. Though it fit her, it was starting to get a little tight across her hips. She asked cook to stop making her sweets but that wasn't doing it. She huffed, picking up her shoes. She plodded down the stairs. Her father was in black tie and he smiled as she entered.

"Is that the dress Aunt Mary got you? It looks-"

"I hate it. I don't want to go."

After an argument with plenty of shouting and screaming and smart remarks that Tom almost admired Sybbie for daring to say to him, they were in the car on their way to the Cartwright's. They were welcomed by Mr and Mrs Cartwright, Sybbie given a hug by the older lady. She was ushered in to join the ladies whom sat listening to the wireless, drinking fancy drinks and smoking. She couldn't count the times she had been offered one. They all believed her older than she was.

She felt very out of place. The older men came to join but Jonathan and his 'friends' were nowhere to be seen. But there was a loud ruckus going on across the hall in the larger reception room, cheering and such.

After two hours, she wanted to go home. As her father was too busy schmoozing and creating more 'prospects', she left to explore. Upstairs held many bedrooms, some had locks on, others didn't. They must rent them out like some of her friends parents do. Suzy Holmes' house is like a hotel, but it makes them money, which a lot of people don't have at the minute.

She found a bedroom, she didn't know who's, and walked in. She really hoped that it was a spare and she could sleep with peace and without being disturbed but there was little luck. After further exploration - the suits in the wardrobe, the male shoes in the floor, the very revealing photographs of women - she knew it was his.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She jumped round and Jonathan was stood there, drink in hand. Surprisingly, he wasn't mad. Amused really. He chuckled and gestured to the picture she was holding.

"Are you taking that with you?" he snickered.

"No." she snapped, throwing it at him. "Why on earth do you have that?"

He laughed aloud then, picking it up and putting it back where she found it. She fiddled with the skirt on her dress, her cheeks matching the red shade of the material. He never really saw her dressed up, he knew it made her uncomfortable.

"Why would she want to send a picture like that to _you_?" she folded her arms.

His laughter died off, trying to conceive and answer. The more he thought, the more the insult revealed itself to him. It wasn't the picture, or the nakedness in the picture that she was curious about, it was that he was the recipient. He knew she didn't like him and she was asking why anyone would want to reveal anything intimate to him. He scoffed. How... clever. She was 12 and already outwitting him.

"What do you know? You're just a kid." he muttered. He finished his drink and threw the glass on his bed. He sat on it, and began to untie his shoes. She stepped around him, facing him square on. That gaze - still her trademark from the age of 6 - lit up her face.

"More than you think. Living without a mother has left some things to myself." She sounded proud. He didn't want to know how she came about it all. He imagined her listening to whispers from the older girls in school, giggling at stories, even reading books. He shook his head at how quickly gossip and false facts could ruin a life. He didn't know the woman in the picture of course, but he didn't doubt that she knew that. He felt sorry for Sybbie, not having a mother. If she were alive she would have tamed her a little and monitored her behaviour. He was told to watch over her around school, when in all honesty, she could take care of herself. A boy, two years her senior, lifted up her skirt and she punched him. In the face. She was suspended for a week but he saw how proud Mr Branson was. He was a little bit though he'd never admit it; he was friends with the boys older and much bigger brother and he didn't want a beating. No boy, even in his year would go near her now. If her mother were alive, she wouldn't have done that. She would have probably cried. The way she was couldn't be changed now, her mother's death decided that. But it made her likeable. It made her different.

"Why aren't you at your party?" she asked. She sat on the bed, curling her feet under her dress. In the silence she had removed her shoes too. He'd never had a girl sat on his bed before, never mind one that hated him. This must have been the longest conversation they'd ever had.

He shrugged. "No one to dance with." he joked.

"There are lots of pretty girls downstairs, I'm sure they'd like to dance with you. Pa says you're a playboy, so there must be a girl you like enough to dance with."

He bugged out his eyes, staring at her.

"What?"

"How do you even know that word?"

"What word?"

"Playboy? Do you even know what it means?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes." she picked up the glass, fiddling with it. "It means that you like lots of pretty girls and you spend lots of money on them. Uncle Harold was one."

"Your father told you that?"

She shook her head. "Not technically, he said it to your Dad who thought it was very funny. He said you'd grow out of it... in time."

He turned on the bed to face her. Though there were 6 years between them, he felt like there was no one else whom could understand. She was just a kid, yet he was curious as to what she knew.

"In time for what?"

It was her turn to shrug. She looked up at him and sighed. She was suddenly downcast.

"He didn't say, Pa just agreed with him and said that he didn't have to worry about me."

"Your father?"

"No! _Your_ father!" she groaned, exasperated. "He said that, 'In time, Jonathan will be mature enough, but Sybil will never be an issue' - and that - 'our prospects will be greater when they get older'. He said that 'money would be of no issue - for both of them.'"

Her expression became sombre as she continued, her voice almost faded to a whisper as Jonathan didn't say a word. He sat back. He just stared, his mind processing the secret. He didn't even notice that Sybbie had left. He reached for his glass but it was gone. She'd taken it. He found himself downstairs, sans shoes, and drifting toward his father. He hadn't noticed the faces of the people he bumped into, the tray of glasses almost shattered on the marble floor. He eyed the flow of Sybbie's dress going into the front door alcove. There he spotted his target. Jonathan wasn't looking for his glass anymore, just for answers. He was saying goodnight to the Branson's when he lunged. He tackled his father, who just pushed him off and back, his back cracking as he tumbled to the floor.

"What is wrong with you?" his father boomed. Jonathan rolled and scrambled to his feet. He

"Did you decide this?" he looked to Tom, who was just as confused. He moved Sybbie away, holding her close. "Does she know yet? Because she knows a hell of a lot more than you think!"

He stood, shrugging his waistcoat back into place and pushed back his stray hairs. He looked at Sybbie who didn't seem terrified. She looked quite enthralled at the possibility of a fight. He stepped away from his father and her face fell, ever so slightly. He pitied her. He envied her. How long will they wait to tell her? He bid the Branson's, and his mother, goodnight and went back to his room.

He patted the place where she sat, as it was extremely unlikely that any other girl would sit on his bed. Not if his father had anything to say about it.

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 **The next chapter will be in 1936 and Sybbie decides to sneak out, not without being caught first.**


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